


Behind the Cut

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry blow jobs, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Flirting, Gay Chicken, M/M, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel has a bad habit of interrupting Feuilly when he's trying to get things done, and over time, it's become a sort of game that they play, but eventually Feuilly's had quite enough.</p><p>[A prompt fill with a vague title.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Cut

             It had almost become a sort of game between them.  There weren't really any rules to the game so much as it was just Bahorel pushing buttons and seeing just how far he could get before he got hit, or otherwise chastised into retreating.  So when Feuilly heard the other man slip, as soundlessly as he was capable of being, into the flat, it was all he could do not to let an irritated sigh escape his lips before he returned to slicing vegetables.  At least he wasn't drunk this time - not with how quiet he had managed to be.

             The game always began like that.  Bahorel would attempt to get the jump on his flatmate - always unsuccessfully - and start in slowly, by his standards anyway, and then escalate things as far as he could before being told to fuck off.  So when one of Bahorel's hands slipped under his shirt to rest against the small of his back, Feuilly didn't even flinch.

             "'Evening."  Bahorel's breath was warm against the back of his ear, and his knife stuttered imperceptibly against a pepper.

             "Bit past that," he replied mildly, his knife hand slipping easily back into its original rhythm despite a slight shiver traversing the length of his body as the hand under his shirt slid up his spine a little ways.

             Usually, there'd have been a bit more chitchat, a bit more harmless banter before the game began in earnest, but instead, Feuilly found his fingers tightening around the handle of the knife as first one kiss, then another was pressed just behind his ear, followed by two more, messier kisses along the side of his neck.  It wasn't until, tilting his head, Bahorel purred something that, while indistinct, was made very clear by the rough edge to his voice, and seized his earlobe in his teeth that Feuilly's slicing stuttered again, and he was aware of a slow flush creeping up his neck.  Still purring, the other man kissed over his jaw, allowing his hands to slip over Feuilly's ribcage and down to trace the angles of his hips.  "Mmmn...how much past?"

             "Several hours."  Feuilly kept his voice level with only some difficulty, but he knew that the tightening of his jaw under Bahorel's lips was obvious.

             Bahorel didn't respond, but buried his face in the curve of Feuilly's neck, his unshaven jaw scratchy against the smooth skin of the other's throat, and slid a hand down the front of his trousers.  With a gasp, Feuilly dropped the knife.

             " _Bahorel_!"  He hissed the other man's name, then as soon as he felt the hand retreat, turned to face him, entirely too conscious of the other man's hips almost pinning his own against the side of the counter.  " _Look_ ," he took a step forward, bringing their bodies flush against one another in the small kitchenette, "Do you honestly think you can just waltz in here whenever you feel like it and just do this?  Are you trying to annoy me?  Throw me off of what I'm doing?  Because it's working.  If you want to do something, then do it, but if not, cut it the fuck out."

             It wasn't until the last word left his lips that he registered the way that Bahorel was looking at him and then he had a moment in which to exhale before he suddenly found himself seized by the arms and his back slammed into the refrigerator door, stars bursting in his eyes from the jolt that radiated from his shoulder blades.  " _Fuck_!"  The word rocketed from between clenched teeth and he shot the other man a glare that lasted as long as it took to grab Bahorel by his shirt front and kiss him hard enough that their teeth knocked together before they finally pulled apart with the wrenching sound of the flimsily sewn-on buttons of Feuilly's shirt giving way under Bahorel's fingers.

             "Christ."  The word escaped Bahorel's lips sounding shakier than he wanted it to, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he started to pull back for a moment, only to be stopped by Feuilly's grip on his shirt front.

             In another gasp of breath, he repeated himself, and this time when Bahorel dipped his head to scrape his teeth along the ridge of his collarbone, Feuilly hissed between his teeth as his shoulder blades - they were going to bruise, he could already feel it - shifted against the uneven surface of the door. He very nearly protested as the teeth were replaced by the very tip of the other man's tongue, but then he was suddenly very aware, even through the dull roar in his ears, of the tell-tale sound of one of Bahorel's ugly, wrought-iron rings bumping against his belt buckle as his fingers worked first on his belt, then on the zipper of his trousers, and while a sound might have left his mouth when the teeth came back to clamp down on the crook of his neck and shoulder, he wasn't entirely sure of it.

             What he was sure of was his fingers wound tightly in Bahoral's hair and the cool air of the kitchenette on the backs of his legs as his trousers were yanked down and the scratch of Bahorel's rings gave way to  the unexpected softness of his palms, which curled over his hip, his fingertips pressing into Feuilly's skin like a brand.  He was even more certain of a growing sense of frustration with the agonisingly slow progress that Bahorel was making down his torso, and his fingers tightening against the other man's scalp, he felt, rather than heard himself speak, his voice half criticism, and half throaty growl.

             The look Bahorel gave him was somewhere between astonishment and something else entirely, and then there was the sound of knees hitting tile and a flood of sensation as Bahorel began laying a series of messy, open-mouthed kisses along the pale flesh of his inner thigh, the barest hint of teeth leaving his nerves disoriented and sensitive even after his lips had long since passed by.  When Bahorel's lips finally ghosted over him, his knees nearly buckled, and might have entirely were it not for the fingers wrapped tightly around the backs of his legs, and when those same lips wrapped around him, his breath escaped in a shuddery gasp that became a sharp noise as the faintest grazing of teeth brushed his skin.

             "Hey!"  The words came out decidedly less sternly than he had intended, so he punctuated with a firm yank on Bahorel's hair, "No fuckin' _teeth_!"

             Laughing around him, Bahorel's lips twisted as he stifled a grin that Feuilly knew entirely too well, but then he had flicked his tongue over skin and coherent thought wasn't exactly an option.  Closing his eyes, he bit his lip to muffle the noises welling up in his throat, if only in consideration for the neighbours, but - and in hindsight, he thought, he should have known better - Bahorel was having none of it.

             Once taken as a personal challenge, Bahorel had surprisingly little trouble breaking Feuilly's resolve, and spurred on by the noises that were tearing their way out of the other man's throat, he curled his tongue experimentally, shifting his grip on Feuilly's thighs in response to each soft, strangled noise that forced its way past his lips.

             His fingers wound painfully tight in Bahorel's hair, Feuilly managed to bite back all but the most desperately soft noises - gasps, soft cursing, and the occasional whimper - until, his lips twisting into another facsimile grin, Bahorel purred around him, the low vibration in his throat arching Feuilly's spine and pulling a desperate, ragged noise from his lips, followed closely by a long string of something in a language Bahorel didn't speak, but was able to read the meaning of through tone alone.

             After Feuilly finally came with an almost startling noise, the first thing his eyes found themselves focused on was Bahorel's smirking face.  "You're a complete bastard," the words came out in between panting breaths, and swallowing hard, he added: "I do hope you realise that."

             Bahorel's smirk broadened into a grin and he leaned in closer, pressing his lips to the other man's in a kiss that was stopped abruptly as Feuilly caught his lower lip in his teeth, one of his hands skidding over the front of Bahorel's trousers and drawing a low noise from his throat.  Recovering quickly, he leaned into the touch, pinning Feuilly's hips with his own before smirking again and murmuring in the other man's ear.  "You sure you don't need to finish fixing dinner?"

             Feuilly's sharp-edged laughter mingled with the soft sound of zipper teeth unzipping.  "That was for my lunch tomorrow, jackass," even through his laughter, Feuilly's voice is rough and nearly husky in his ear, "Dinner was hours ago."

             Laughing, he opened his mouth to retort, but as Feuilly's careful, artist's fingers slid past his fly to curl around him, Bahorel found himself entirely incapable of remembering what it was he was going to say.


End file.
